Broken
by Grey Wolf of Xanthus
Summary: Draco's thoughts after his father's anger...


Broken

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone *sniff* they all belong to other people who won't let me near my darlings. Draco is a good example; JK Rowling won't let me near him, she locked him in her hall closet and swallowed the key after I asked to borrow him and I can't find my wand anywhere to cast Alohomora and free him. My poor Draco alone in the dark, although that's not as bad as what I have planned for him…

**Note:** Yes I am sick and yes this is yucky and yes I should be killed for writing this and yes I will rate this g and no 6 year olds don't read fanfiction (other fic). Now that that's done.  This is a view into the home of Draco, from Draco's POV. This is only what I think and I doubt I am right. This all started with the vision of Draco laying on a white tile floor. I blame the schooling system for my mental state, if someone understood me I would probably write happy fics but no everyone thinks I'm crazy and sick and other stuff I don't even know about. I could really use some positive reviews, not that I have ever gotten a really bad review (you guys are all so nice). It's just that I'm feeling down. Oh this might be a after rape type of fic, I don't know okay, all I know is that Draco was abused by his father. 

**Thanks to: **Damien for always being there to pick me up, to IC the joy in my live and to YOU-KNOW-WHO (not Voldemort) for being the destroyer of every thing and every one I hold dear and hating my writing.

* * *

He had left me bleeding on the cold white bathroom floor, only half conscience and aware of what is going on in the rest of the mansion. I probably deserve this; I'm not what he wants me to be, I'm a failure and a shame to my father and to the family name. I don't deserve the  Malfoy name.

The white tiles press up coldly against my naked skin bringing me more pain for the pressure against my broken body and yet it brings cold comfort to my fevered skin. It was both pure agony and pure bliss to just lie there on the cold floor after my father had exacted his fury on me for my poor grades (compared to the mudblood's) and for being humiliated by Potter and the Weasleys on the train. I had never seen him so mad as when he had woken me up from the train's floor.

I try to move but my body is to stiff and the effort only gains me sharp stabbing pains in my chest which probably meant that he had broken a few ribs, since I had trouble breathing too. I was still lying with my eyes close, they had been closed since after the second time he had hit me, but I was almost sure my left eye would be swollen shut. I could feel that the blood on my face was drying but I made no attempt to wipe them away, it would only be a show of weakness and that's the last thing I need now, weakness.

I hear my mother's voice on the other side of the wall. It's the high pitch tone it always gets when they fight. I can't tell what she's saying but I know it's about me. It's always about me. By the way the argument sounds to be going I know it will be hours before she comes to pick me up from this damn floor and heal me back to her 'perfect' boy.

The thing is that my mother loves me more than anything. I am her only child and it doesn't matter to her how good or bad I do, but I hate to disappoint her and my father the way I do and I hate their fighting and I hate that it's my fault. It hurts me so much that I hurt them but it's a hurt I can never show; I am a Malfoy and Malfoys are cold and heartless. That' something I'm very good at; hiding the hurt and pain I feel to be the cold heartless bastard that everyone expects me to be. 

I open my eyes or rather eye, I was right my left eye is swollen shut. The whiteness around me hurts my eye and with a lot of effort I lift my left hand to shield my eye. The ceiling light is reflecting off of all the tiles so that I am surrounded by the blinding whiteness. I close my eyes and lie back down with my cheek pressing against the cold whiteness. It almost figures that I would be surrounded by light when I am filled with darkness.

The sounds of fighting stop and I hear I door slam nearby, probably my father leaving for the death eater meeting. How will I ever follow in his foot steps and become a death eater if I can't even make him proud of me only once? How will I ever please Voldemort with my loyalty if I can't even face someone without Crabbe and Goyle there to protect me? I am pathetic. I don't deserve to be a Malfoy, if anything I should probably have been born a Weasley or worse, a Longbottom.

The bathroom door opens and I feel my mother's soft hands on my forehead. In a moment she will heal my body but my heart will always be hurt and the faith I should have in myself will always be broken…

The end.


End file.
